


Kidnapped by Danger

by captainmycatisthedevil



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt Stiles, Kidnapped Stiles, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-20 18:17:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3660333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainmycatisthedevil/pseuds/captainmycatisthedevil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles had always thought he'd be prepared. He grew up with a cop for a father, has watched every action movie Netflix has ever put online, and considers himself a vigilant individual. So when he gets kidnapped coming out of a Super Target, he is suitably annoyed with himself. And terrified. The whole night gets a fun twist when he finds himself stuck in the hands of hunters with his favorite ex-murder suspect. Derek Hale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Fresh Hell

“No. NO NO NO NO NO!!! WHAT FRESH HELL IS THIS?  WHEN WILL DEATH COME?? IS THERE A GOD???”   Having exhausted all of the dramatic phrases he could think of, Stiles ceased pounding on the stone walls around him, and sank to the floor in a huff. He _would_ get kidnapped in the parking lot of a Target. There’s nothing sexier than a damsel-in-distress carrying a bag full of cheerios, face wash, and the toiler paper with the cute little puppies on it. Stiles sighed.  All he remembered was fumbling for the keys to the jeep, bag balanced on one hip, and then a blinding pain. He had woken up as he was thrown into what seemed to be…a dungeon? God, his life was a cliché.  Now, he was sitting on the cold, damp ground of some sort of dungeon-cellar, trying not to panic while his head pounded to the beat of his rapid heart.

 

“Please don’t panic…deep breaths…. Scotty will come…” Stiles went through all of the calming thoughts he could think of, and after a few minutes of deep breathing managed to stave off hyperventilating.  There was nothing he could do until his captors came back. In what seemed to be a recurring pattern in his life, Stiles resolved to sit and wait for Scott to show up. Surely someone will eventually notice that he is gone.  

 

Stiles fell into a fitful sleep, his thin hoodie pulled tight around him. Let it be known that scary dungeons are not the most comfortable places to take a siesta. Stiles woke up abruptly to the sound of the door being thrown open, and, still blinking the sleep out of his eyes, saw his kidnappers throw another body into the room. The stranger hit the floor with a crash, and then didn’t move.

 

“Oh my god my new cellmate it a dead body… they murdered someone and now they’re gonna make me sleep next to them…IT’S A STIFF!!” Stiles was muttering to himself furiously. The door to their prison slammed shut, and Stiles took a few minutes to gather his courage before crawling over to his new cellmate.  The body was wearing torn clothes, riddled with what seemed to be bullet holes. But…. there were no wounds.

 

“Goddammit it’s a motherfucking werewolf” Stiles said, flipping the body over with less care than he might have afforded a human. When the body was turned on it’s back Stiles took in the scruffy stubble, the dark, thick eyebrows, and eternal frown of Derek Hale.  Hysterical laughter bubbled up as Stiles sat back and looked at Derek, unconscious but still devastatingly handsome. “He _would_ get kidnapped too,” Stiles thought darkly. Now that Stiles knew that Derek had been taken, with guns no less, he felt he could pretty fairly assume they had been taken by hunters. Now all they could do was wait for Scott to show up, hopefully with the cavalry and not on his own like the dumbass he is. But why take an ex-alpha and a skinny human boy? If they only wanted bait for Scott, then just Stiles would have been fine, and Allison would have been a better choice.  If they were after some sort of Hale family secret, why grab Stiles at all?  The only explanation Stiles could think of is that these hunters really sucked at their research, and found himself not that comforted by the idea of the ineptitude of their captors. With a longsuffering sigh, Stiles took pity on Derek and dragged them so that Stiles was sitting with his back against the wall with Derek’s head resting in his lap. Figuring he had nothing better to do, Stiles closed his eyes and willed himself to fall asleep. Maybe he’ll be lucky enough to wake up and realize he’s been dreaming the whole time.

 

Derek woke to a pounding headache, and heavy limbs. It took him a few seconds to remember what had happened. He and the pack had been working on the Hale house, tearing it down in order to start the renovations. Derek had driven back out to the construction site when he realized he had forgotten his jacket. He was walking up the not-yet-demolished porch steps when he heard a hiss, and suddenly he was surrounded by smoke.  The smoke caused his lungs to burn, and his vision was grow blotchy. “Wolfsbane” Derek growled, and willed his body to turn around and face his attackers. He turned his head as saw five dark shapes in the front of the house, and as he was about to step towards them, there was a _crack_ and a bullet pierced his shoulder. Derek let out a roar as four more bullets hit him, and collapsed to his knees as the Wolfsbane began taking it’s toll on his body. The last thing he remembers is hearing the approaching figure say to his buddies “ _this_ is the Hale kid? Geez, how has he lived this long? That was too easy. Let’s get him back to base and throw him in with the weird kid”.

 

The weird kid…Stiles. Derek’s eyes shot open, and he began to blink rapidly, panic filling his mind. They had taken Stiles too! It was only as he was willing his body to wake up faster that he heard the sound of soft snoring coming from above him.  Derek stilled and looked up to see Stiles, eyes closed and head lolling to the side, dried blood cutting a trail from his temple to his chin. Another soft snore escaped him, and Derek was filled with relief. Stiles was okay. He hadn’t been the cause of yet another pack member’s death.

 

With a sigh Derek rolled himself off of Stiles, and sat up, stretching out his sore muscles. The Wolfsbane was wearing off, and he could feel his muscles healing. He looked back at Stiles, still snoring softly, and let out a huff of laughter. As much as it killed him, for Derek was not a patient man, it was time to wait.  As soon as the hunters presented the opportunity, Derek would get them out of there.


	2. Bad Guys Can't Buy Lamps

Derek had just sang American Pie in his head a fourth time (and no, he’s not proud of that. He is aware he has no imagination, so sue him) when he heard feet approaching. If he had to guess, they were about a minute away. He heard…stairs. Heavy boots.  Feeling the adrenaline return, Derek shot to his feet.

 

“Stiles!” he hissed, shoving Stiles’ legs with his foot.  “Wake up!!” One last shove sent Stiles sprawling sideways, waking up with a loud gasp.

 

“Blergh! What??” breathing hard, Stiles looked around the room, eyes moving rapidly. “What the fuck… Derek??”

 

“Stiles. Breathe, and then shut up. The hunters are coming back, and you need to stay behind me _and say absolutely nothing._ Understood??”

 

“Hunters?? Oh, frack, that wasn’t a nightmare…. Why did hunters grab me! This is all your fault! I cannot believe-”

 

Derek slapped his palm over Stiles' mouth and flashed his eyes. “Stiles _shut up._ The hunters are coming down the hall right now, and they will kill you. So get behind me, and control your mouth for once in your life”.

 

There was a click as a the door was unlocked, and Derek shoved Stiles behind him. Two burly men in camo jackets entered first, and Stiles rolled his eyes as aggressively as he could manage. Behind the two men was a small woman. In all honesty, she looked like a meek kindergarten teacher.

 

“Hello boys” she all-but-purred with a smile.

 

“You goddamn hunters, with your ridiculous clichéd kidnapping and crazy female dictators. Well, you can all go suck a-”

 

Derek clapped his hand back over Stiles mouth, wishing, once again, that his uncle had never bit crooked jawed bleeding heart and brought this blabbermouth into his life.

 

“So cute.” The woman cooed. “A little human and his guard dog. Sit, puppy, I need to speak to little red riding hood over there”. Derek could _feel_ Stiles roll his eyes this time. It’s true, over the last few years more than a handful of villains they’d encountered had made little red riding hood references towards Stiles. It never failed to amuse the pack, but irked Stiles every time.

 

Derek growled as the burly men advanced towards them, flashing his eyes and fangs.

 

“Oh puppy, heel. I need to borrow cutie over there, and you’re gonna take a nap.”

The two men advanced on them, and Derek moved forward to attack.  As Derek lunged towards them, the woman stepped behind him and jammed something into his neck.  Derek felt a sharp prick, and then his limbs began to get heavy, and he stumbled. As he sank to his knees, he heard Stiles shriek “Derek!! Derek help! Derek!”

 

Derek fell to the ground, his vision tunneling, and the last thing he saw was Stiles being dragged out the door, his long limbs thrashing as he hurled insults at his abductors.

 

 

Stiles tried as hard as he could to shake the strong grip they had on him, but he stood no chance against two grown men, let alone beefy hunter henchmen.  In his head he had been calling them tweedle dee and tweedle dum, but not even his relentless wit could keep the dread from pooling in his bones. Stiles had spent a good year now coming to terms with the fact that he ran with a werewolf pack, and he _knew_ that it was dangerous. He had been hurt before. He had seen _terrifying_ things, but there’s nothing quite like being slapped in the face with your mortality as you get bodily hustled down a dimly lit corridor. And _dammit_ , can’t bad guys invest in lamps??

 

Stiles’ internal monologue fizzled out when he was thrown into a wooden chair, and his hands were strapped down.

 

“Come on guys. Wooden chair? Seriously? Are you gonna reveal a big wall of ancient torture devices? Maybe cackle maniacally?”

 

“No sweetie, we don’t need any of that,” the huntress said with a smile. “This will work just fine”. And then she punched Stiles in the face. Hard.  His head rocked back into the back of his chair, and he blinked stars out of his eyes.

 

“I didn’t want to hurt you cutie, all I wanted to do was ask you some questions. But you are so _goddamn_ annoying, and I enjoy the scared look on your little face. Now honey, we know you’re the pack emissary. We’ve been watching your adorable little ragtag pack, and your puppy of an alpha bumble his way around town. We know the Argents got weak. They failed, and now they disgrace hunters everywhere by letting you _live._  What we don’t know yet is the extent of your pack of monsters. So tell me, bambi, how many of there are you?  We nabbed grumpy wandering in the woods alone, but we know there are more. You’re human. You may run with wolves, but I’d be willing to let that go if you told us who was in your pack. Give them up, and we’ll give you your life. What would your poor father do if he was left all alone…if he found your arm, just your arm, sitting on his front porch on his way to work? What if he found your lifeless eyes looking at him from his bed when he got home? Tell us who’s in your pack, and where to find them and you can live. That’s the deal, take it or leave it”.

 

Stiles sat there in silence. _Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck._ His dad would _never_ recover if Stiles died. Stiles remembered after his mom died, the years of empty eyes and empty bottles.  Not even Melissa could bring the sheriff back if Stiles didn’t make it out of this alive.  But the pack…he can’t sell out his pack. But Scott! Stiles isn’t stupid, he knows that if he doesn’t give up any information Scott will still come after him. He knows that he was taken because he was weak, but also the best bait.  He knows Scott is out there looking for him right now, especially if they found out that Derek is missing too.

 

“Well fuck me…” It wasn’t until Stiles heard a shrill giggle that he realized he had said that out loud.

 

“Oh honey. Don’t tempt the boys”.

 

With a shudder, Stiles looked up at his captor.  It would kill his dad to find his body, but he knew he couldn’t help these monsters. He would rather die than sell out his pack. But, _god,_ he wasn’t looking forward to the pain, and knew that his death would not be a short one. He knew that he was on his own with Derek down for the count, and he could only hope that somehow the pack never found them, would never find his mangled body. Or that Derek could escape. Either way he was a goner, and the best he could do was buy Derek some time.


	3. Jesus Take the Wheel

“Stilinski” Slap. “Who are your pack members??” Punch.  What a fun formula, Stiles thought in a daze.

 

“How many of you are there??” the huntress shouted.

 

“Your mom” Stiles coughed out, wincing as his ribs screamed in pain.

 

“Who. Are. Your. Pack. Members. Stilinski!?” Another punch. “I swear to god you will sing, or you will die!”

 

“As you wish!” Stiles rasped, and then began to warble the first song he could think of. “ _Jesus take the wheel!! Take it from my hand! Cause I can’t do this on my oooowwwnnnn, I’m letting gooooooo_ -“ Another punch to the face shuts him up. His nose is bleeding, and one of his eyes is beginning to swell shut. So he switches songs.

 

“Why won’t you give up those monsters, bambi? Think of your poor father!”

 

“ _Mamma Mia! Here I go again. My my, how can I resist you_ -“ His chair is knocked over with a rough kick, his head hitting the ground with a crack.

 

“Alright Stilinski. We’ll wait a night for you to really feel at home with those bruises. Maybe good ol’ Scotty will come to get you and do my job for me. Sweet dreams Bambi”. And with one swift kick, Stiles is out like a light.

 

 

Derek can hear them. Whatever they had injected him with was short lived, and he had blinked back into awareness a few minutes after they had taken Stiles.  He had woken up to the sounds of that goddamn kid mouthing off to the people threatening to kill him. So _typical_ of Stiles. Every time they find themselves in danger he is quick with a quip or a joke, and Derek won’t lie to himself, not now, but he had begun to find Stiles attempts at levity reassuring. Not so much now.  Now he could hear every blow land, every crack of a fist across Stiles' pale face.

 

Derek knew Stiles was tough. He had seen him drive his jeep through a crowd of angry trolls, seen him race towards danger for the sake of his friends. He also knew Stiles had one of the lowest pain thresholds of anyone he’d ever met.  When Stiles had sprained his ankle running on a full moon with the pack, he had moaned and complained for long after he could walk without crutches again. When a rogue Omega had scratched Stiles across the chess, Stiles told Melissa his pain was a 10 on the 1-9 scale hospitals use. And yet now he could hear Stiles laughing until it turned into a wet cough. Derek winced, knowing the sound of broken ribs. Stiles couldn’t stand paper cuts, yet he was laughing in the face of immense pain.

 

Begrudgingly, Derek felt warmth in his chest. _This_ is what pack means, and Stiles wasn’t even a werewolf. Faced with death or betraying his pack, Stiles chose death.  Pride could only outlast terror for so long, and when Stiles began to sing about Jesus and ABBA Derek’s laughter was distinctly hysterical.  That kid amazes him. Stiles is the center of their pack. It was a smart move on the part of the hunters to take him, not only for his vulnerability as a human, but as the perfect bait for the whole pack.  Taking only Derek would result in concern, sure, but not the same urgency as taking Stiles.  Taking Allison would incense Scott, but wouldn’t bring the whole pack together.

 

Derek heard the kick that finally silenced Stiles, and couldn’t help the growl that escaped at the sound. Derek had to get them out of there. He didn’t know exactly what he felt for Stiles, but he couldn’t let him die. They had to get out and warn Scott, and then kill the bastards that took him.

 

Derek stilled as he heard footsteps approaching, a heavy weight being dragged with them down the hall. He stayed motionless as the door swung open, knowing that he couldn’t start any fights with Stiles unconscious and with unknown injuries.  Derek darted forward to catch Stiles as they threw him into the room.

 

“We’ll be back for your boy tomorrow. Either he gives you all up, or alpha dearest shows up so we can kill you all at once. You were just a fun surprise, grumpy. The Hale boy along with the human bait, what a lucky day for me!  Say goodbye to bambi, Hale, you all die tomorrow. Toodles!”

 

The door slammed shut, and Derek cradled Stiles to his chest. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and both his lips and nose were bleeding.  Derek tucked Stiles’ long arms up against his chest in case his shoulders were injured, and sat with his back against the wall, slowly rocking his lanky friend.  Stiles had begun to grow his hair out, and now it was clumped with dried blood. Derek gently ran his fingers through it and thought about their little ragtag pack they had built. Stiles and Scott were the center, the alpha and the emissary. When Derek gave up his alpha powers to save Cora, he didn’t know where he would fit in Beacon Hills anymore. Over the last two years he and Scott had been working on their relationship, and Derek counts himself lucky to be one of his betas. Every Friday night the pack gets together to eat dinner and watch movies, and Derek has found himself…happy. Nothing will ever fill the loss of his family, or ease his guilt, but, as Stiles had sobbed at the end of _The Fast Five,_ “we’re a family of choice...I LOVE YOU GUYS”.  Derek had not been able to escape the ensuing “puppy pile”, but maybe he didn’t want to anymore.

 

The pack had faced their fair share of enemies in the past.  They’re a bit of an unconventional group, what with a true alpha, an ex-Kanima, a banshee, a huntress, and a druid.  Sometimes supernatural beings came to Beacon Hills to challenge them for the land, thinking them weak and easy pickings. Sometimes people were after the power of a true alpha, or drawn to the legend. Each threat they’d faced, they beat. They were strong. They worked with Chris to keep Beacon Hills safe and it was good.  They were good.

 

Derek heard Stiles heart rate pick up, and looked down to see his eyebrows scrunch up as he let out a groan of pain.

 

“I did it,” he rasped. “I finally realized my dream of being James Bond and it sucked _so much_ Derek. So much. Supervillians are not to be trifled with, let me tell you”.

 

Derek laughed softly. Everything he did in the last year was soft.  Stiles closed his eyes against this reality, preferring to imagine instead that he was in Derek’s arms because he had fallen asleep during movie night again, and not because he maybe had internal bleeding.

 

“On a scale of 1 to Tom Hardy, how badass do I look right now?” Stiles asked, his voice weak from shouts of pain, and songs of defiance.

 

“Shut up, Stiles”

 

Stiles let out a small laugh, and kept his eyes closed.  Better to spend his last hours enjoying the warmth of Derek’s arms, remembering the hot afternoons spent rebuilding the Hale house, and the quiet evenings spent digging out Derek’s dry sense of humor, joke by joke.

 

“Hey Derek?” Derek grunted in response. “I spy, with my little eye, something-“

 

“When they come back, we’re getting out of here Stiles”

 

“-Grey” Stiles finished, purposefully talking over Derek.

 

“Stiles.”

 

“What in here is grey Derek, other than your soul?”

 

“Can you sit up?”

 

“Derreekkkk” Stiles whined. Derek began to lift Stiles into a sitting position, Stiles hissing as his ribs screamed in protest and the room spun. He was still in Derek’s lap, head tucked against his neck as he panted, trying to acclimate to the new position. Derek rubbed small circles in his back, and waited.

 

“Okay…I’m okay. God, they really fucked me up.”

 

Derek kept Stiles’ head against his neck and continued to rub his back.  There wasn’t too much of a rush, as the hunters wouldn’t be back until tomorrow, but he needed to make sure that he could get Stiles out of here. He knew their pack would come for them, and he knew that the hunters would be ready. Scott had smartened up, and had become a great alpha, but he was still prone to rash decisions and shallow plans, especially when it came to Stiles. They would have to make their move at the very next opportunity.  Stiles let out a sigh, and Derek continued to hold him, hoping against hope that his werewolf strength would hold against the hunters tomorrow, and he could get them out of this godforsaken prison.

 

Stiles reached up and smoothed his palm between Derek’s eyebrows.  “Lighten up, sourwolf, or you’ll get wrinkles on that pretty face of yours. You’ll make it out of here. Promise, ‘kay?”

 

Derek continued to frown in silence as he thought about Stiles' promise: he had only said that Derek would make it.

 

“Screw your nihilistic, self-sacrificing bullshit Stilinski. We’re both getting out of here.”

 

“Sure. Okay Der” Stiles replied softly, but Derek could hear his heart stutter in a lie.


	4. It's Go Time

Stiles and Derek sat side by side, their backs against the wall.  They had exhausted all of the car games that Stiles could think of, Derek had convinced Stiles to stop singing Les Mis songs and save his breath, and now Stiles was sleeping fitfully, slowly listing towards Derek. Every time his torso started to twist or bend, he let out a little moan of pain and scrunched his face up in his sleep. After the third time, Derek sighed and pulled Stiles between his legs, resting him against his chest. He placed his hand onto Stiles' chest gently, and began taking his pain with a quiet hiss.

 

They’ve been there for hours. Derek’s best guess is that it’s minutes away from morning, minutes from when the hunters promised they’d be back to kill them.  He knows he has to wake Stiles up so that they can formulate a plan, but he looks so peaceful. And then that peace is broken. Derek had just convinced himself that it was time to wake Stiles, when Stiles let out a long moan and began to twitch in his arms.  Stiles’ eyebrows were scrunched up in pain, and he began to mutter quietly.

 

“No… please…No! Not him, please…” a small sob, “Please no. Scott!! Derek!! Please! Daddy!” Derek shook Stiles’ shoulders gently, and then a bit harder when he was unresponsive.  Stiles woke with a gasp that turned into a cry of pain. He was shaking in Derek’s arms, tears silently streaming down his face. 

 

After Derek helped Stiles calm his breathing, he quietly asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

 

Stiles shook his head, and then forced out a laugh. “I’m fine dude. No worries.  A dream can’t defeat ol’ Stiles Stilinski”. It’s not the first time Stiles has dodged talking about his nightmares, and it won’t be the last. Derek just sighed, and asked, “Are you excited about that new…Avengers movie?”  That sent Stiles off on a lengthy ramble about how Tony Stark is totally in love with Captain America, but then there’s going to be a civil war, and he doesn’t know how he’s going to be able to stand that, but there are a lot of funny memes on a thing called Tumblr, and the whole diatribe ends in a pretty lengthy ramble dedicated to how hot Mark Ruffalo is as Bruce Banner. The whole thing goes right over Derek’s head, but he succeeded in distracting Stiles from his dream and his pain, and it’s nice to see his usual animated gestures, though they lack their usual enthusiasm.

 

 

Hours pass. The hunters don’t come back, and Derek and Stiles are left to sit there with no food or water, Stiles’ breathing becoming shallower, and his face becoming more and more pale. Stiles has again drifted into a fitful sleep, but only after regaling Derek with every dog and yo mamma joke that he could think of.  Stiles is lying on the ground, his head in Derek’s lap, and Derek is carding his fingers through his hair. Derek can’t remember when affection became easy between them, but he knows it was somewhere between Stiles saving his life _again_ , and his relentless efforts to make Derek smile more.

 

It was as he was sitting there, remembering the pack camping trip that Stiles and Scott had forced them all to go on, when he heard footsteps down the hall.

 

As Stiles would say, “it’s go time!”

 

Derek shook Stiles awake, and put a finger to his lips.  It was time to enact their plan.  After much arguing they decided that Stiles would stay in the middle of the room, in easy sight of the door, and distract them while Derek, who was standing out of sight next to the door, would attack.  It was the best they could manage, and it was time to try it, or accept their deaths.

 

They got into position, Stiles sporting a steely look of determination, and the door opens. A figure comes running in, and Derek throws himself at them with a roar. There is shouting, and screaming, and Stiles can see the figure fighting Derek back.  But then they hear, “Stop!! Stop Derek, it’s me!!”

 

Stiles recognizes the scruffy dark hair and crooked jaw being pummeled by Derek, and leaps onto them.

 

“Derek!! Derek stop, its Scott! Derek!!” Derek rolls off Scott, and lets Stiles pull him to his chest. The Sheriff comes running in next, and immediately makes a beeline for Stiles, pulling him into his arms.

 

“Stiles! God, I thought you were dead… We found the Jeep outside of Target, and the blood…I’m so glad you’re okay.”  Stiles hugged his dad tightly, all of his fears that the hunters had killed him rising to the surface, making him unable to speak.  But the events of the last few days begin to take their toll, and Stiles’ vision starts to tunnel and grow fainter.  He can hear a voice, but it’s far away.

 

Stiles slumped in his father’s arms, and Scott shouted in fear “Stiles! Derek, what happened, is he okay??”

 

“The hunters were asking him about our pack.  They beat him, and I think they broke two of his ribs. That was about a day ago, but it was hard to keep track of time.  He should go to the hospital”.

 

The sheriff looked at Derek, gave him a nod of thanks, and began to try and lift Stiles into his arms. “Sir, let me take him. I can carry Stiles so I won’t hurt his ribs, and we can take him to my mom. I’ll give her a call in the car”. Derek looked disgruntled at not being able to carry Stiles, but Scott just rolled his eyes at him as the four of them began to climb out of the lair.

 

 

Stiles ends up with a mild concussion, two broken ribs, one cracked rib, and a handful of deep bruises and lacerations. He’s lucky: the hunters had gone to taunt the Argents, to flaunt their success in the face of the Argent’s failure, not expecting them to be in cahoots with the McCall pack. Allison and Chris called Scott, and together they took down the hunters. It had been a long, drawn out battle, and in the end the hunters refused to tell them where Derek and Stiles were being kept, or even if they were still alive. It took all of the pack to hold Scott back from killing them.  It took Scott a few hours to track the scent of the hunters down to an abandoned warehouse (Stiles had laughed at this. The amount of abandoned buildings in Beacon Hills is ridiculous), but eventually they had located them and ran down to see if their packmates were still alive. At this point in the story Scott’s voice breaks, and Chris Argent has to take over explaining what happened to the hunters. Apparently they had broken some sort of hunter code, and Chris had turned them over to the board of hunters, or some other ridiculous hunter group (Stiles had stopped paying attention at this point as he hadn’t had his Adderall in days).

 

Stiles goes back to school after a week, and people stare at the bruises on his face, but last month Stiles had walked around school with Star Wars temporary tattoos all over his arms, and people had stared then too.  The pack were being annoyingly clingy, but Stiles found it comforting. Scott is pressed against his side at lunch, slipping him his pudding cup, and ruffling his hair every few minutes. Lydia comes over after school to help Stiles catch up in math, and to watch Say Yes to the Dress with him. It feels good to have people care.

 

One night a few weeks after the kidnapping Stiles is writing a paper for his history class in his room. The topic had been the Battle of the Bulge, but Stiles had gotten stuck in a Wikipedia spiral and was now writing about the effect of Climate Change on the mating patterns of adult seahorses. The new alt-j album was playing, Stiles was simultaneously playing the Kim Kardashian phone game, researching seahorse biology, and writing his paper, when he heard his window slide open.  Derek gracefully leapt through the window, and sat down on Stiles bed.

 

“Hey sourwolf! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

 

Derek sat for a minute, a surly look on his face, and muttered, “How are you”.

 

Stiles sat for a minute, and then began howling in laughter.

 

“You looked so pained!! It was that hard to ask?”

 

Derek just scowled at him, the tips of his ears turning red. Stiles’ smirk turned soft, and he sat next to Derek on the bed. “I’m good, sourwolf.  My ribs are almost better, and I have gotten a freebie pudding cup at lunch everyday this week.  I’m living the dream.”

 

Derek didn’t smile, but Stiles could see his eyes soften.  Stiles had become well versed in the many unexpressed emotions of Derek Hale, and could read the relief and fondness.  Stiles grabbed his laptop, put the Goonies in (he has it on good authority that that was Derek’s favorite film as a kid), and laid back on his bed. Derek had his angry-constipated face on, which Stiles knows means he’s nervous, and Stiles pulls him back on the bed to lie next to him.  Around the time the kids face the robbers in the treasure cave, Stiles feels a weight fall onto his shoulder and smiles.  Derek had held him when the hunters had broken his ribs, Stiles can hold him when he’s anxious and unable to express himself.  Pack does mean a two-way street. 

 

Stiles closes the laptop, and shuts off the light.  He pulls his comforter over him and Derek, and lies down.  Sometimes, when he wakes in the middle of the night, he thinks he’s back in the hunter’s lair or that his dad will find his eyeballs in his breakfast the next day.  But tonight when he wakes up, sweating and paralyzed with fear, he will feel the warm presence of Derek pressed along his side, and he’ll know that he is safe. And in the morning when he wakes up late for school, Derek’s large arm wrapped around his waist, he will flail, fall out of bed, press a hurried kiss to Derek’s lips, and laugh at the shock on his face.  And when Derek tackles him to the bed to initiate a kiss of his own, Stiles will pretend that his car broke down to explain why he missed the entirety of his first class.


End file.
